Travelin' Prayer
by whisperkey
Summary: Richard Granger, Hermione Granger's father, ponders the whereabouts of Hermione and worries over her safety. Post HBP, trying to get at how a muggle father would feel about a witch daughter, especially one so embroiled in a fight against a very powerful f


Disclaimer: I don't own Billy Joel's "Travelin' Prayer" nor any of JK Rowling's characters, places, situations. I am merely a fan.

An old, stubborn fart, that's what he was. Richard berated himself. His daughter was in a different world. She could take care of herself. Or, at least, better than he could take care of her. There was stuff in her world that he would never be able to protect himself from, much less his daughter. His daughter would be better able to protect _him_ then he could protect her. He sighed heavily, settling down in his armchair in the quiet house. With his wife out to dinner with a friend, he was alone in this house. It was much too big to house only himself. He used the remote to flick on his old radio. It was, after all, a tradition for him to turn on the radio and sit in this arm chair each night. Hermione used to love to climb up into his lap and sit there listening with him.

"And now, for an old favorite, an American singer, Billy Joel singing "Travelin' Prayer." Richard closed his eyes. He'd not heard this song in a long time. The steady beat of the drums and bass hid beneath the piano chords.

"_Hey Lord, take a look around tonight/And find where my baby's gonna be/Hey Lord, would ya look out for her tonight/'Cause she is far across the sea/Hey Lord, would ya look out for her tonight/And make sure she's gonna be alright/And things are gonna be alright with me"_

Joel belted out. Richard stared out into space. Billy Joel was right, he decided. All he could do was pray to the Lord that Hermione would be alright. He wasn't even sure if god existed, but if he did, Richard was sure he'd watch over his daughter if only he asked. Hermione always had been an odd one. She'd not really made friends until she left home. At the age of eleven. For a world he knew nothing about. Richard sighed moodily and slumped further down in his seat, swirling his glass of white wine. He'd much rather have a beer, but as they did not have any at the moment, nor was he a wizard, he had to settle for white wine as his alternative.

_Hey Lord, would you look out for her tonight_

_And make sure all her dreams are sweet_

_Hey Lord, would ya guide her along the roads_

_And make them softer for her feet_

_Hey Lord, would ya look out for her tonight_

_And make sure that she's gonna be alright_

_Until she's home in here with me_

He didn't want to imagine what she could possibly be doing at this moment. Stuck out there, in the miserable fog. It was infernal, this fog. It never went away. He sent a brief glare at the window, where small droplets of water slithered their way down the panes. Probably didn't matter anyways. She probably had some sort of charm to stop the fog from affecting them. That was his girl, learned everything it was possible to learn. He smiled briefly, more of a grimace.

_Hey Lord, would you look out for her tonight_

_If she is sleepin' under the sky_

_Hey Lord, make sure the ground she's sleepin' on_

_Is always warm and dry_

_Hey don't you give her too much rain_

_But try to keep her away from pain_

_'Cause my baby hates to cry_

He remembered when she was a young child that he had been able to protect her, keep her demons at bay, simply by hugging her and looking under the bed. Now, however, he watched her turn to a different family and three other teenagers, two boys her age and a girl nearly two years younger. He didn't even know the girl that visited them so often. He and Anne had not prepared themselves for this small amount of visitation. In the world he knew, children didn't leave their parents until they were of age, mostly sticking around the house then. And even then, there were many visits over the course of a year. Perhaps a month or two at a time. Even when they reached their mid twenties, there were a couple visits a year. However, with Hermione, there was perhaps, one visit a year. For a few weeks. He hadn't seen her for longer than a month since she had turned thirteen. And her visits were getting shorter and farther in between. She had told them frankly that she didn't know when she was coming home next when she had come home for a visit after going to stay with her friend Harry. She had stayed to dinner and then they had all left, to go to Ron's house. They couldn't stay, they said, because there was a wedding to be held. The next morning he and Anne had received an invitation to this wedding. It was Ron Weasley's eldest brother. He was marrying a French girl, a quarter Vila? _Something like that_, he thought to himself. Hermione had mentioned her as part of something that had happened in her fourth year. He guessed the warning of her heritage had to do with the fact that he felt himself go slightly slack jawed at the sight of this girl. And she was marrying this man who was horrendously scarred and _happy_ about it. He shook his head, grinning to himself.

_Hey Lord, won't you look out for her tonight_

_'Cause it gets rough along the way_

_Said Lord, if this song sounds strange_

_It's just because I don't know how to pray_

_So won't you give her peace of mind_

_And if you ever find the time_

_Won't you tell her I miss her ev'ry day_

Hermione had held tight to him that night, telling him she loved him and mum. She had seemed so frightened, but it was Ron who had found the words to comfort her, not him. And for that, he was eternally grateful and eternally jealous. "Don't worry, Hermione. You'll be home with them in no time, even if I have to die to make that true." He had said with a half smile. At that, Hermione had jerked away from him to face this Ron boy. She had gotten into a furious argument with him, taking her mind away from the troubles ahead, slightly. He had smiled in thanks when Ron had caught his eye. He had turned to Anne and they had left then, through some magical device Arthur Weasley called a "porkey." Whatever it was, it made them reappear in their own living room. He grunted at that thought, now having experienced some of the magic that Hermione had acclimated herself to over the last six years. Just then, the front door opened. "Richard?" his wife asked. "I'm home, Richard?"

"Just in here, honey, I'm listening to the radio." She came hurrying in.

"oh, Richard, what's wrong, honey?" She asked, perching on his armrest.

He glanced up at her. "Just thinking about Hermione, is all." He mumbled, glaring at his empty wine glass. "Praying she'll make it through whatever this is."


End file.
